Nature
Some things are just part of you – you are born with them, and it's hard to hide. Morgana was, even from an early age, too concerned with people getting their own way. It didn't get any better when she was sent to live with Uther – the man actually believed he was worth more than anyone, and it would drive her mad.
Especially in days like these, when innocent lives were lost for doing things he did not agree. The poor man had done nothing but to heal a young child. Yes, he had used magic, and yes, magic was forbidden, but should his compassion be punished? Should he die for caring for another human being? How could magic not be used against Camelot if when it was used for Camelot and for its people it was greeted with fire and blood?
And the mother – the poor mother, distressed over the loss of her child. Morgana had no children of her own, but she surely could understand how the woman felt. Even after she tried to kill Arthur, Morgana couldn't stop feeling sorry for her. Grieve could turn you bitter and make you lose your mind – a lesson that both the witch and Uther personified too well.
She couldn't stop herself from protecting the young druid boy that was being search over Camelot. He was but a child – a small child, with big blue eyes, defenseless and lost. And Merlin – he didn't seem to know why he was doing it either; there was something about the boy that made them want to care for him.
It was unlike anything Morgana had ever felt – the pull toward the druid boy, the worrying and the caring. She didn't mind spending all night by his side, as a mother hen, because she truly had never met someone that felt as close as that. She had never considered herself big on the mother instincts, but this was before she met him. He had her heart and soul from the first glance, and she was ready to risk everything for him. It was the right thing to do.
She cared little for Uther and his rules, his thoughts and positions. No child should be persecuted for being brought up by the druids. Looking at him and feeling his distress as if it were in her own skin, seeming him lose control and break the mirror, she finally managed to put into words what had bothered her for so long: what if it wasn't something you choose? What if it chose you, as compassion, patience and persistence chose people? Just something they were born with?
Morgana truly believed it to be the case – maybe not all of them, but surely this boy's. Who would choose to be chased and shunned? It wasn't a choice that no one would make, let alone such a young person. Surely, if he could give up magic for peace, he would have. He couldn't, and it wasn't his fault, and he didn't deserve to die for it.
No one deserved to die for it.
And that soon became her main belief – the elemental thing that led to everything else.
It became her nature.
(And the sad irony was that her very compassion would drive her away from her ideals, that her own grieve would cause her to lose her mind, as it had with those she had once pitied).